


Winning and Losing

by subjunctive



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), M/M, Oral Sex, POV Theon, Porn Without Plot, TheKinksIDoForLove kinkmeme, Theon Feels, i'll fill my own prompts if i have to!!!, sexual competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: “It’s the only fair way to determine who’s more skilled,” Theon says reasonably.





	Winning and Losing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a prompt (... my own prompt) at [The Kinks I Do For Love](https://thekinksidoforlove.dreamwidth.org/595.html), a new ASOIAF/GOT kinkmeme. The prompt was "Jon/Theon, blowjob competition. Because they can't NOT do anything competitively." I have been going through A Jon/Theon Thing, and this is the result. ~~(plz fill my other jon/theon prompts)~~. Lightly edited from the kinkmeme version.
> 
> Imagine a canon AU where the precipitating events never happened and they're a bit older than they are in the series.

“It’s the only fair way to determine who’s more skilled,” Theon says reasonably.

Everything Theon says is reasonable, yet the Snow bastard is glaring at him from the vicinity of Theon’s crotch. “This isn’t some kind of . . . trick?”

Theon rolls his eyes. “By the gods, you are suspicious. What exactly would I be tricking you into in this scenario?”

“I don’t know . . . perhaps you’re going to fart in my face or something. You're the devious one, I wouldn't know.”

Theon considers. It's not as though there isn't appeal in humiliating him, but . . . “I think I’d really rather you suck me off.”

“I suppose I can believe that,” Jon says grudgingly. “So we start at the same time?”

“That’s the idea, bastard. Are you catching on?” _Is my cock going to finally get some attention?_ If not, he can always go down to the winter town . . . but overcoming the bastard's reluctance and getting him to suck Theon's cock is generally more satisfying.

Snow gives his cock a sudden, surprising squeeze through his breeches, palm firm and hot, and has the nerve to laugh when Theon gasps. “I think I’ve got the idea.”

“Cheater,” Theon wheezes, before unlacing Jon’s breeches and drawing out his cock. The bastard’s always hard for him, he notes with satisfaction . . . though in fairness, given his age and the questionable character of his blood, he might well be hard all the time. The image amuses him: Snow hard at dinner, Snow hard while praying in the godswood, Snow hard in the library during lessons with Maester Luwin. _So many places to defile,_ Theon thinks idly.

The bastard has Theon’s cock in his hand, but he keeps it maddeningly still. “Then we’ll count down, shall we? Three, two— _ah!_ ”

Theon chuckles with his lips still around the head of Snow’s cock. He draws back to murmur, “Suppose you’ll have to catch up now, hmm?”

He wastes no time doing exactly that. Theon muffles a groan as the tip of his cock is engulfed in wet heat. Snow has little experience—Theon suspects he is the only one who’s ever touched him save the bastard’s own hands, which is almost sweet—but he has been an eager pupil, as determined a learner here as he is in the training yard.

Much as he wants to succumb to Snow’s attentions—both winning and losing have their attractions—Theon makes himself concentrate on the cock in front of him instead. He’s never actually done this in this position with another man; everything’s upside-down. Still, some things remain true regardless of orientation. Theon slips the bastard’s cock deeper into his mouth, his fist working at the shaft, and is rewarded with a choked grunt . . . and the brush of teeth.

Theon pulls off. “Watch it, Snow,” he warns. In retaliation, the bastard rubs Theon’s cockhead against the top of his mouth, and Theon has to fight the urge to moan like a whore.

Well, that just calls for an answer, doesn’t it? Never let it be said Theon Greyjoy is too craven to respond to a challenge. Theon slides down, swallowing around the thick weight of him, feeling him jolt and hearing his noises turn to whimpers. He’d never heard such sounds from the bastard before sucking his cock, and he suspects no one else has ever heard them either.

It makes him think of the first time he did this. A visit, from some important lord or another—Theon can never remember, they’re all Northmen to him anyhow—and they were both consigned to the lower tables one night. Too much anger and recklessness and wine, although not enough that Theon can’t remember with perfect detail how, after supper, he had grabbed the other boy by the front of his shirt and pushed him into an alcove and fell to his knees, Jon’s open mouth and wide eyes above him. He can still see the way his fingers had clutched at the wall behind him, polite even in his cups, and he remembers grabbing Jon’s wrist and shoving his hand into his hair, and he recalls with perfect clarity Jon finally losing himself enough to _yank_ , the sweet sting of it burning itself into Theon’s mind and making them both moan. He moans again now, nose pressed to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock, thinking of Jon’s shocked look and buckling knees and the light in his eyes that seemed almost like wonder at this great pleasure Theon was bestowing upon him.

It’s not difficult to win. Snow’s young and eager and inexperienced, ready to spill his seed at the barest of touches, and besides—Theon had fisted his own cock when he first thought of this diversion not an hour before.

In fact it’s almost flattering how a few thrusts down Theon’s throat leave Snow choking Theon’s name in warning, shuddering and coming in great spurts, neglecting Theon’s cock to cry out instead. Theon swallows it all with thick satisfaction, drawing off only to lick the bastard’s cock clean. Every touch makes Snow jump and shiver. It’s almost as satisfying as having his own cock sucked, Theon thinks as he draws his hand up the bastard’s slick cock in a tight squeeze, drawing out the very last drop of seed to be licked away.

Snow rolls onto his back, spent and gasping. Theon watches as he pushes his damp hair away from his forehead, the dull Stark brown almost black in the half-darkness of the room.

Abruptly he remembers that his own still-hard cock has been abandoned. “I think you’ve forgotten something,” Theon says pointedly, nudging the bastard’s head with his knee. Snow slaps at it half-heartedly.

“Have I?” There’s a languid quality to Snow’s voice, something that only comes out when he’s sated, married with the appealing hoarseness that results from cocksucking. “I thought we were done. You won, didn’t you?”

Theon almost growls, and then realizes the bastard is _laughing_ , silently, his chest heaving.

“You think you’re so funny,” Theon mutters, pushing himself up. “Get over here and put your mouth to a better use than such poor japes.”

Snow is still chuckling, the breath of his laughter brushing over Theon’s cock as he shifts and bends over Theon’s lap. _Much better_ , thinks Theon as he watches the bastard’s mouth slip over his cock again, tongue caressing the underside of the head. Theon presses his thumb to the corner of Snow’s mouth where a trail of saliva gleams, and drags it over the bastard’s hollow cheek in a wet streak, a mark that says _I was here_ , and it makes something low in his gut jump.

He’d like to see Snow do this for a woman, he thinks. He could find a willing girl easily enough, put her between them, watch Snow’s head descend between her legs. It would be quite an appealing sight. It’s easy to imagine, and the fantasy spins out in his mind: the deliberate swipes of his tongue, his mouth ringed in red and gleaming with her arousal when he looks up at Theon, those stormy grey eyes black with arousal.

Perhaps it would even wear down the bastard’s final defenses and put an end to his honorable maidenhood. Theon could pull him up, watch his face dissolve into bliss the first time he sank his cock into . . .

Frustratingly, the woman in his fantasy has disappeared, and Theon can’t recover her, can’t even remember whether she was black of hair or red or yellow. Instead he can only imagine Jon above him, his narrow body pressing Theon into the bed as they kiss, his hips moving in quick jolts between Theon’s legs.

All the details disappear in a hot blinding rush as Theon comes.

He hears a grunt below him, and opens his eyes. Snow has pulled off and is wiping his mouth. “Thanks for the warning."

“You’re welcome.” Theon ignores how weak and reedy his voice comes out.

The bastard huffs, tying up his breeches. His hair falls into his eyes. He’s going to leave. Good, Theon thinks without conviction.

“Don’t worry about your performance,” he adds in his silkiest voice as Snow stands awkwardly. “I’m sure it will improve, given time.”

Snow pauses to turn with his hand on the bar of the door, and _smirks_. “Suppose you’ll have to give me plenty of practice, won’t you?”


End file.
